Why He Died
by Mad Hatter Usagi
Summary: After all is said and done, post-Reichenbach, John is still in deep pain from his friend's death. One morning, he wakes up to find that Sherlock is alive, and he has questions.


After Sherlock's death, many things happened in the media. They insulted the dead consulting detective in so many ways, claiming that he must have killed himself because everyone knew that he was the mastermind behind all the crimes of the cases he had participated in, and possibly more. For those who knew him personally, they wallowed in the sadness that no one believed in the great man they knew.

About a month after his death, after things had mostly calmed down, people started coming out of the woodwork to explain how Sherlock Holmes was not a fake, or a criminal mastermind. They demonstrated his powers of observation, but slower. They testified to the media that he was a brilliant man. People whom he had taken cases for began saying that he wasn't a bad person, just blunt and sort of an asshole.

Lestrade and others on the force found Moriarty guilty, after a while of digging, and finally cleared Sherlock's name after four months. They said it couldn't possibly make up for what happened to him, since both him and Moriarty were dead, but he hoped that it would ease the pain of those who loved him. John was relieved, but his grief couldn't be consoled, no matter how much time passed.

Watson suspected that Mycroft had spent that first month digging for those who had seen Sherlock's observation skills. He must have bribed them or prompted them somehow to come to the public. Mycroft truly cared, John knew he did, no matter how much they fought. He must have hated to hear how his brother was ridiculed, when he knew the amazement of his powers so well. John hadn't seen the other Holmes brother since the funeral though, so he didn't really know. Sherlock was known for his brilliant mind now, and that was good enough.

It had been three years since his friend's death, yet John was still hurting. He didn't understand why his friend would kill himself, especially for the reasons the media thought. He didn't care what others thought, he simply lived to exercise his mind. Sherlock had been happy to keep his mind occupied with the recent events, exhilarated even. He was pleased with his life, his friends, his everything.

John secretly worried that he may have been the reason Sherlock jumped. He had been forced to bear witness, and he'd been there to get his "suicide note," yet he didn't, or couldn't, talk him down. That hurt more than anything, the fact that Sherlock jumped, and he couldn't stop it as he watched his friend in free fall. What if Sherlock had been hiding his sadness? What if he had thought boredom and emptiness would consume his mind once Moriarty was dead, and that no one could ever test him again?

Lying in bed, barely awake, on that day thirty-six months later, he heard the sound of a violin being plucked absent-mindedly. John had heard those sounds so many times before, waking him at the odd hours of the night and annoying him as he came home in the evenings. But that had been three years ago, when Sherlock's mind hadn't been occupied and he was acting like a child, like he often did.

It couldn't possibly be him, John thought, snuggling into his bed and clenching his eyes shut. Yet that sound, that twanging noise, sounded from the sitting room. Almost like he was compelled by the Pied Piper, Watson rose from bed and walked out of his bedroom and toward the noise. Along the way, he knew it couldn't possibly be him, he must have left the television on, or his laptop needed an update, or the radio was on.

John stared at the sight that met him in the sitting room. A tired, gaunt, skinny, and morose Sherlock was sitting, curled up in his armchair. He was gazing at his violin, kept in perfect condition by John, plucking it every once in a while. Watson's breath was uneven and harsh, his whole body shaking. Hearing him now, Sherlock looked up and smiled at his friend. The change was instant, making him look like the man John knew three years ago.

"Hello, John," the man said in his familiar baritone.

He fainted.

The smell of something absolutely disgusting roused his mind from its slumber. Eyes fluttering open, his eyes met those gorgeous eyes that could only be compared to something astral. John's hands instantly shot out to grab Sherlock's arm, meeting substantial flesh beneath his gray pea coat.

"Good morning to you too," Sherlock said, helping his friend up off the floor.

"B-But you-!"

"May I have some tea?"

"Tea?" John asked, perplexed by the simple request.

"Yes. Tea. You know how I like mine, and I've never felt the need to learn how to make it. It clutters my brain," Sherlock said, a little shake of his head for disgust, as if knowing how to make tea was the bane of existence.

"Sure..." John said, walking off to the kitchen. He quickly made two cups of tea, then returned to find Sherlock sitting in his armchair again, holding his skull, Victor.

As Sherlock accepted his tea, he said, "It's nice to be home again."

"This is still home? After three years of...of being gone?"

"Of course it is, John. You and Mrs. Hudson are here, so that makes it home," Sherlock said, sipping his tea as Watson sat in his own armchair, across from Sherlock's like they always used to sit.

A warm feeling came over John, and so did a small smile. Then the doctor scowled and finally burst with the question that had been on his mind the past three years. "Why did you jump?"

"When I met Moriarty on the roof, he told me that he had three assassins trained on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. I had to jump, or they'd shoot all three of you. Moriarty shot himself to leave that as my only way to save you," Sherlock said quietly, setting his empty cup aside.

"You jumped to save me?"

"Of course, John. I may be a sociopath, but I have feelings too. Some people have grown close to my heart, you included."

"How'd you do it then? Live, after falling from that building, and seem dead?" John asked anxiously.

"Ah, I used a little trick I learned. Meditation, if taken far enough, can numb pain almost entirely and slow a heartbeat down until it can barely be felt by human hands. I merely meditated while I was giving you my note. When they thought I was dead, they sent me to my coroner, who was Molly, as you may remember. I woke up then and convinced her, and a little while later, the funeral director, that I should be declared dead, and to have a closed-casket funeral. I was never in the casket, it was filled with sand to be about my weight."

John gaped at his friend, unable to speak for a moment. "Molly knew?" He asked, when he regained composure.

"Yes, although she was very conflicted. She wanted to tell all of my friends and associates to help them cope with my leaving, but I convinced her that it must remain a secret. You see, there were still the possibilities of some of my other enemies coming after you if I was known to be alive, and I did not want you to be put in danger again. You are such a terrible liar, John, so I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

Watson stood, his hands shaking, his eyes barely holding back tears. "Where have you been?"

"Mostly in places that they would not recognize me. Asia, Eastern Europe, South America, and Australia. I've made absolutely sure that all of my enemies will not come after anyone I am close to."

"You could have contacted me somehow! I don't know...sent letters, emailed me, sent me a text, or called?"

"Letters can be intercepted, email accounts can be hacked, someone could duplicate your phone, or steal it, and there is such a thing as a wire tap, John. I wanted to be in contact, but it was too much of a risk," Sherlock replied, irritated.

"You could have used a code."

"Let's be honest John, if I sent something encrypted to you, you'd throw it away thinking it was rubbish."

John pouted, knowing it to be true. It didn't make him feel any better. He said, out of spite, "It hurt to hear you insulted in the media, and to know you were dead. You, who I respected and felt so much for... I don't think a machine like you can understand how painful it was for me."

"I don't know how it felt for you, you're right about that. I did however feel terrible these past three years. You have been the only person, not of my caliber of thought, that interests and exhilarates me merely by being at my side. You, John, are the only reason I didn't actually kill myself that day, like Moriarty wanted. How do you think _**I**_ felt when I couldn't be around you, because it wasn't safe for me to be?"

"Irene Adler. What about her?"

Sherlock waved his hand in the air, "She was merely a puzzle. A woman with an intellect that I wanted to solve. Like a Rubik's Cube. We were merely friends, or even less than that. She perplexed me, but I solved her, so I cut all ties to the woman."

"B-but you wanted her phone!"

"A trophy for winning a game, John."

"Fine then. So you missed me," Watson shrugged and pouted.

Sherlock stood, moving to be very close to Watson, although his friend was turned the other way, merely inches away. "More than that. I realized that being around you was more than just a friendly feeling. I hadn't ever experienced it, so it took me by surprise when I identified it. I'm in love with you, John."

The shorter man could feel his proximity, and it made him happy. He knew what it must've taken for the man, who clearly was uncomfortable talking about feelings, to admit that. He just wasn't sure about it, no matter how amazing it felt to hear Sherlock say that. "But you said you weren't interested in men, or women."

"Because I didn't really know _you_," Sherlock said. "Only the things that I could deduce, and sometimes that's not enough."

"Why did you come back," John whispered.

"I'd like to resume living in 221B Baker Street, my work as a consulting detective, and being in your life, if that's okay with you."

"I'd be disappointed if you weren't," He said suddenly, turning and hugging Sherlock tightly.

* * *

((This is my first Sherlock fic, so please be nice and offer constructive criticism. I love Sherlock, but IDK if I was in character, tell me if I wasn't, please. R&R! Please go to my profile and vote in my poll.))


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